grammatical tagging [happy sigh]

from the rut. via Dave

This may, in fact, be the best cartoon representation of my kind of social disobedience. As ever, Dave, you and your betrothed sparkle with well-mannered bad behavior. I am not barely so worthy (false modesty is just annoying).

taming the chaos

Sister coming to visit. Very busy. DIY mavens, we are. New ceiling fan installed. Check. New kitchen faucet (and sprayer, ptl) installed. Check. Yardwork. St. Barbara's check. Homemade enchiladas and lasagna in the freezer. Check and check. Lists with check boxes checked. Check.

new ceiling fan. cool.

new faucet. smooth.

We're going to have so much fun. And my domestic duties will include far less domestic duty. Will report back.

ptl and pass the pubic dye

GEM ONE of TWO
Happened upon two gems in my cyber travels recently.

The first is SlidellBaptistSeminary.org (I won't even link to it because I can't bear to increase their site traffic. Go there if you don't believe me but you'll only have yourself to blame for the retinal scarring.) A few golden snippets from their page on Doctrine:

3. We believe that man is totally depraved, a sinner in both nature and practice, therefore totally separated from God, totally lost...

There are few things that get me off faster than being called totally depraved. Where do I sign up?

9. We believe that the Bible is the Word of God and is the absolute authority in determining the faith and practice of God’s people. We affirm that the sixty-six books of the Bible are inerrant, divinely and uniquely inspired, and [yadda, yadda, virgin-v'jay-jay, yadda, yadda]...

Have these folks every played Telephone? (Or as the politically insensitive call it: Chinese Whispers or Russian Scandal.)

Inerrant? As in:

in·er·rant /ɪnˈɛrənt/ [in-er-uhnt]
–adjective
free from error; infallible.

Nothing new, this literal Bible thing. It just never ceases to amaze me how blithely Fundamentalism kicks Logic right off the cliff.

And here are some beauties under Course Descriptions:

SURVEY OF THE CULTS

An investigation of the Doctrine of Mormonism, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Armstrongism, Christian Science, Unity and others. Attention is also given to the founding fathers.

Yay!! Mormons, Jay-Dubs, Armstrongians (WTF? Lance has branched off into theology?), Christian Scientitians, Unityanites (are they talking about those fucking evil humanists, the Unitarians?) have made it into the Cult Club! With a nod to the evil tenets of the founding fathers. Deism and Theosophy, get thee hence!

PERSONAL EVANGELISM	This is an interesting course in personal soul winning. It is comprehensive in that it deals with the “how to” in soul winning.
ADVANCED EVANGELISM	This is an advanced course dealing with soul winning. This course, taught by Dr. Dabdoub deals with different scenarios that the soul winner will face during door to door soul winning...

Ooo, look, look! Basic, Advanced AND Door-to-Door Soul Winning. I am absolutely sure that Beelzebub Junior College has this exact same course in their catalog. Credits won't transfer, though. Devil take them.

APOLOGETICS 1

This is an advanced study, taught by Dr. Dan Botterbrodt, dealing with the subjects of Evolution and the Cults.

For those of you keeping track, there's also an Apologetics 2: More Evolution, Bigger Cults.

Look, obscure words used to sound more...academical...academicky:

HOMILETICS	This course, taught by Pastor Phillip Weaver, offers an introduction to homiletics, which is the art of preaching. Varied considerations for [blah, blah, blah-fuckity-blah] ...sermon delivery.
HERMENEUTICS	This course, taught by Phillip E. Weaver deals with the process of biblical interpretation.

On October 9, 1997, after being examined educationally, ethically, and spiritually, SBS qualified for accreditation by the American Accrediting Association of Theological Institutions, Inc. of Rocky Mount, North Carolina.

According to the satanic wizards over at Wikipedia:

American Accrediting Association of Theological Institutions (AAATI) is a Christian nonprofit organization offering educational accreditation, based in Rocky Mount, North Carolina. It was formed in 1983. The composition of the board is unknown. According to Steve Levicoff, it is an accreditation mill operated by Dr. Cecil Johnson, president of Christian Bible College, a distance education Bible college based in Rocky Mount that Levicoff identifies as a diploma mill.

AAATI is not recognized as an accreditor by either the United States Department of Education and Council for Higher Education Accreditation.

(ugly tables, theirs; inconsistent italicizing/bolding for emphasis, all mine.)

I have to stop. It's like shooting fish in a barrel. A tiny barrel and a howitzer.

GEM TWO of TWO
This second site is proof that the righteous surfer shall be rewarded.

I am delighted to present these two sites in one entry. Pastor ("Dr.") Dabdoub can now share his fame with technicolor pubes.

This site is ridiculous and wonderful for so many reasons:

• Provides a darling, Mrs. Rubblesque nickname for your lady parts: Betty
• Gives wordsmiths a plethora of tagline fun:
  Betty Color; Not just for merkins anymore!
  Betty Color; Paint your pudenda!
  Betty Color; Color for your cooch!
  
• Creates endless opportunity for coining new phrases about making your hairs all matchy-matchy:
  

Coordinate your collar to your cuff.
(gobless your betty-free heart, Giuseppe,
for sending me this link.)

Order carpet to match the drapes.

Sync up your 'do and hoo-hoo.

Match your mullet and muff.

And of course,

Get your bob and beaver on the same page.

I cannot get enough. There are dyes (for brides: something blue?) and godsaveme, STENCILS! I am flummoxed, vahklempt...colorize amongst yourselves. Let me give you a topic: snatch is to swatch as religion is to fucktardery. Discuss.

this just in

A perfect blend of catch and skiff here. Enjoy Moby Dick via the interpretive genius of one Aaron Francis, D.V.D., one of my four adopted sons (AQ, JA, PR, you know who you are). The degree letters are for AF to decipher. [Hats off to my virago daughter (definition 2, por supuesto) for the link.]

Dave, Dave, Dave. You bait me with this:
Now I am plagued by unclean thoughts.

• Is the photo dirty or has she been rolling around with the zebras?
• I thought zebras were herbivores. Looks like this one ATE HER BOOBS.
• What could one do with an octopus? (sweater-wise, I mean, you pervs.)
• How long would it take to knit the matching leggings?

Christ on a flap jack, so many questions. So much zoo crafting envy.

Went to the Bayou City Farmers Market this morning. Nice produce but astrorganically priced. (I'm copyrighting this word.) Okay, it's possible that my love of word coinage leads to hyperbole. Stuff is probably no more overpriced than Whole Foods or Central Market. But I won't pay for that kind of wholesomeness every week. Just won't do it.

Will you look at the time? I've got to get back to the shit on my list...

mnemonics, your ass

callipygian

PRONUNCIATION:
(kal-uh-PIJ-ee-uhn)

MEANING:
adjective: Having well-shaped buttocks.

ETYMOLOGY:
From Greek calli- (beautiful) + pyge (buttocks).

How I try to remember new words:

Callie called to her pigeon while leaning over the balcony, her callipygian form silhouetted in the fading light.

Have I mentioned how much I love A.Word.A.Day?

a note about design

To clarify my previous post...I think that design can actually change the world.

Well-designed items or processes can beautify, enable success and, well, reduce suffering. Furniture, web, fashion, information, tool, interior, architectural and auto design (etc., etc.) can all add to or subtract from our everyday experience. Both aesthetically and practically good design is vital.

I also think it's important to poke fun at the collective snobbery that often accompanies design. So, you know, don't be a pretentious fuck.

thank you, o foul-mouthed guru

via we make money not art.

Six of one

I submitted this entry to Six Sentences and they accepted and posted it here.
Which makes me happy, but that niggling voice in my head mocks me with yeah, but how many entries do they turn away?
I don't know.
But writing succinctly is a great exercise.
Thanks to Veronica for pointing me to 6S.
Well, just look at this, another six sentences.

gay day and blog lint

I have so many things in my head to share. Real thinking things. Ideas and shit. But random and fluffy things have been accumulating in my virtual navel and I must clear them out:

Gay Pride Parade
Best t-shirt spotted (black letters on white shirt, gay man with straw cowboy hat):
Cowfag
Message to trannies:
Girlfriends, buy some decent wigs. I've seen Barbies with more natural coifs.
My queer epiphenita:
I'm the Bacon in the Great Bacon Lettuce Tomato sandwich. I love bacon.
 
Irony
Is anyone else pissed off at Fate's little joke of taking out two ground-breaking comedians within one month of each other (May 29 and June 22)? Korman, Carlin: I hope you two are doing that foul-mouthed voodoo that you do, soooo well.

Visitors
The Finns were here. Our Finnish host daughter (from 10 years ago) and her boyfriend were spending their vacation in the US and sandwiched 5 days in Houston between New York and San Francisco. They were completely delightful and we had great fun. I've been cooking like my mother (meaning I've been cooking well and in ridiculous quantities. And making menu lists.) for over a week and I am a bit tuckered.

Note: Between Finland's corner on the vowel market and the Czech Republic's capture of most of the consonants, it's amazing that we have enough letters left to cobble together a language.

Hypocrisy
Hello, Liberals/Progressives? Stop doing the McCain is so old schtick. It is, in essence, no less of a bullshit prejudice than racism or sexism and he has provided ample fodder for you on the real issues. Really, enough. You lose your integrity with each comment.

[One exception to the ageism slam: The Rude Pundit. A man whose commitment to the egalitarian smear is so wide-ranging and profound, it borders on the holy edge of the profane. When you look up the definition of "nothing is sacred," it links to his site. O Rude One, carry on.]
 
Dusty Mecca?
How the hell did I miss this?

Rampant Lesbianism
Republican candidate for senator from Oklahoma, Tom Coburn
You know, Josh Burkeen is our rep down here in the southeast area. He lives in Colgate and travels out of Atoka. He was telling me lesbianism is so rampant in some of the schools in southeast Oklahoma that they’ll only let one girl go to the bathroom. Now think about it. Think about that issue. How is it that that’s happened to us?"

–Tom Coburn, 8/31/04

–Atrios (via dailykos.com)

All the lesbians I know are going to be pulling up stakes and heading north to Ponca City or OK City or DustyPoonanny City as soon as they close this window.

Inspiration
Sapphobless my dear friend Giuseppe for this holy-fucking gem:

Click on the image (careful!) to enlarge. Click here to go to fldsdress.com to peruse the homespun frocks. FLDS stands for Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Über Mormons. Guardians of female hymenity, pastel full-body armor, cheap casseroles and all things caucasian. These are the placenta-makers, my people. Reproducing at a rate that causes great papal shame. And while we're talking about conspiracy, don't think it's a coincidence that FLDS reads exactly like "fluids." That is right. Every sperm is sacred.

 

And not that I don't think those Monty Python guys are anything less than total fucking geniuses, but they're wrong about the Mormon's spilling their seed.

I swear on the life of my unborn triplets, Chastity, Modesty and Frigidity, I will make me a pastel full-length dress. And I will unlock the secret of extensions and give myself a Christian updo. Amen.

building little bully billy bigots one panel at a time

Look at little Billy's face in panel two. Is it even possible that there's a child out there who gets this torqued-out about wearing clothes made in other countries? (Any child not poisoned by xenophobic parents, that is.) Or even grasps that clothes are not made by the clothing elves living in the department store basement?

Aside from the fact that this comic strip is inane and the very definition of saccharine, what kind of message does this send?

Free market exchange for us but not all you brown fuckers (Now, Billy, you're still not allowed to say the brown word), I mean, brown kids. Or: We can dress up like you on world cultures day at elementary school, learn your folk dances and the bleached version of your history but we're not buying your shit...unless, of course, it's made in our goddamn sweatshops.

With a sweet little nod to knittin' grandma.

Family Circus sucks.

now that was a nap

That was a nap that makes the other naps whistle a low, "da-a-a-mn."

That was a nap of stygian oblivion. A state of perfect matte blackness from which you awaken unsure whether tomorrow has eclipsed today.

That was a nap that bulleted past with all but its wingtips tucked and obliterated your little sparrow of consciousness in such a blinding explosion of feathers and talons that you didn't have time to whimper.

That, my friends, was a nap.

Damn.


[update: I submitted this entry to Six Sentences and they accepted and posted it here.]

artemia salina is way too fancy a name

Just read a great post about school fair goldfish at The QC Report.

It reminded me of another watery pet story filed under: Unwanted Pets That Wouldn't Die. My son had sea monkeys. I can't remember who bought them for him, probably someone with a score to settle with me. And obviously, whoever marketed brine shrimp as pets was a certifiable mad genius.

I, however, found it difficult to distinguish sea monkeys from flotsam in murky water and was not impressed. And they lasted forever...even when my son stopped feeding them and I, um, forgot to remind him. For a month. Jesus, they cannibalized their young or ate their dead or something.

But I didn't kill them all on purpose, no matter what my family thinks. I was cleaning off the countertop while my children were at their dad's house and the cloudy little shrimp tower fell over. Generations of sea monkeys rode a scum tidal wave over the kitchen floor, racing beneath appliances to die and decompose.

While I mopped up the carcasses of innumerable smelly shrimp, Barbara scoured a half-dozen toy stores and found another batch of dried monkey powder that we reconstituted and encouraged to speed grow (they didn't) so our son wouldn't know that all of his adult sea pals had been replaced (he didn't).

For years after this mishap I felt the weight of massacred sea monkeys on my soul. Every time I swerved to avoid a squirrel in the road, I imagined a few dead sea monkey black marks erased from the tally. Years later, when I felt that my pet-related crimes had been atoned for in full, I was finally free to annihilate all those animals too unevolved to factor automobiles into their genetic code.

Oh, calm down. I hate washing dead critter bits off my car.

not often

Not ofet6n often do I blog drunk.

Because I can't speel spell...or rather, I can't type fir for shit.

But goddammit, am I relaxed.

Hey–did I mention that for my 50th birthday (FIFTIETH, you heard me) I had a choice? Yes, I did. (First, I puled about not spending money and Barbara said, Let me remind you about how this works: you suggest, I decide. I love it when she goes all unexpectedly butch on me.) I really wanted a new computer. One of those MacBook Pro things. You can navigate the Space Station with those fuckers. And oh my god, do we need countertops. I also had my heart set on a stand-alone mixer. Like those gorgeous Kitchen Aid professional mixers. They come in red and will whip chunks of mesquite into a fine paste. BUT, our friends in Germany said, Come visit...stay with us, we're 1 hour from the border of France.

It's a no brainer, people (At this point in time, I am more than qualified to discuss decisions made while using very little of one's brain), new countertops and computers be damned, I'm going to celebrate my 50th in France. Paris, if possible.

I'm goign going to bed now.

Good fight, and good fuck.

congratulations (again) to phyllis & del

Cheers for California queers! Particularly this lovely old couple, Del Martin and Phyllis Lyons, who tied the knot in California yesterday:

Phyllis & Del, then. | Del & Phyllis, now.

Together for over 50 years these two San Francisco activists were pivotal in the fight for lesbian visibility and GLBT rights. The word hero has been handed out like elementary school honorable mentions and I wish I had a better word. But in every cliché-free sense, these brave women are heroes.

story via dailykos

five years

I overheard my coworkers begin their morning chatter and reached for my headphones just as one of them exclaimed, I haven't read a book in ages. The other responded, It's been five years since I read a book!

A moment of brain-recoiling horror. I can't imagine not reading books. All the time. Sometimes several at a time. And real books, fucking snob that I am. Books that have vocabulary and plot. Books that challenge my viewpoint and pull me into another world.

But, I thought (trying to regain my equilibrium) there are things that I haven't done in five years that might horrify someone else. Let me think. Five years since my last manicure? Okay. Maybe something more substantial...five years since I went to a concert?...since I've worn heels and pantyhose? Okay, that isn't really substantial. Five years since I danced? That actually is a tragedy...except I can't dance. Five years since I've bought a car...since I've gone hiking or camping (I'm stifling my applause). Five years since I've ridden a bicycle. Okay, now we're getting somewhere. Five years since I've flown a kite or gone skiing or used differential calculus.

Now I'm exhausted. But none of these things seems as critical, or mutually exclusive to giving your brain regular stimulation. Of course, we always see as most important the things we like and are good at...

Aw, bullshit: people, your brains are going to mush and you need to feed them something decent. Not the Weekly World News. Not romance novels. Or not just the Weekly World News and romance novels.

post postmortem post

I'd been peeling back the layers of accumulati adorning my desk when I rediscovered my "notes" from the recent funeral I attended. Approaching any ceremony or meeting without a writing implement and paper sends me into a wild-eyed panic. Swaths of exposed skin have been penned upon in emergencies. Praise Zeus funerals provide programs...

One of the peculiarities of religion is the need to speculate about god's motives. You know, god took the baby because she was too good for this world. Gramps died because The Lord decided to ended his suffering. (Presumably The Lord thought 10 years of exponential dementia and 3 years of grueling chemotherapy were just about right.) ANYWAY, at my aunt's funeral there were several references to the Virgin Mother taking her on Mother's Day. As if that was the best way to honor her. At her party. On the other side. I'm so perplexed by all this. I find myself daydreaming that the priest dies and arrives at deathland only to realize, "Shit. I was totally talking outta my ass."

Most religions are power-sucks–even if it is the comfort being sought–because they hammer home the concept that you can't do things without god's help. You can't overcome your weakness, you can't accomplish your goals, you can't face death, you can't get to heaven, etc. ad nauseum without following some prescribed behavior. Without faith. Without obedience. Without baptism and tithing. Which seems counterintuitive, if you buy this divine spiritual goal of attaining perfection. Shouldn't we be taught that we have incredible innate powers? Not reaching inward to tap into these fallow abilities should be a sin. On that note, epiphenita's latest set of commandments:

1. Thou shalt use thy common sense.
2. Thou shalt stop whining or I shall cast out all thy big white teeth.
3. Thou shalt stop pestering me (god) about high school sports.
4. Thou shalt figure it out. Make thine list and use thy holy gray matter.
5. Thou shalt think about tomorrow before using all thy silver pieces for new togas and sandals today.
6. Thou shalt use thy signal or suffer the wrath of my vengeful high priestess of traffic flow.

10-schmen. Get these six right and then maybe, you get the next four. Back to the service...

The sweet little incense-swinging priest was likable enough. He told the congregation that it was okay to mourn. He referenced Jesus' sorrow at the death of his good friend Lazarus as proof that grief was an approved response to death. I don't remember the details of this part of the bible story–but the priest should know, right? So I guess JC was pretty sad.

But not so sad that he resisted RAISING LAZARUS FROM THE DEAD. He responded to death by using his superpowers. Come on! That's cheating and absolutely no comfort to us resurrection-challenged mortals.

Okay. Those are all my notes. That I can share. Suffice it to say that as a religious service/tribute to my aunt, it didn't suck. These people knew her and her family. That's good. But as a religious service addressing the mysteries of death...pretty much what I expected. Lots of assurance about things of which nobody is sure. Nice stained glass, though.

i agree but i'll do it anyway

This public diary thing is, you know, pretty fucking self-centered. I was reminded of this last week when the Writer's Almanac profiled one of my favorite authors, Michael Chabon. I skipped over to his bio in Wikipedia and read this:

In a 2002 essay, Chabon decried the state of modern short fiction (including his own), saying that, with rare exceptions, it consisted solely of "the contemporary, quotidian, plotless, moment-of-truth revelatory story." In an apparent reaction against these "plotless [stories] sparkling with epiphanic dew," Chabon's post-2000 work has been marked by an increased interest in genre fiction and plot.

Now I'm not a fiction writer. I'm an essayist of blog-common proportions. But I appreciate a periodic reminder that this private/public exercise is often no more than shameless masturbatory musings.

Another bit about Chabon from Wikipedia:

Chabon's first novel, The Mysteries of Pittsburgh, was written as his UC-Irvine master's thesis. Without telling Chabon, his professor...sent it to a literary agent, who got the author an impressive $155,000 advance on the novel (most first-time novelists receive advances ranging from $5,000 to $7,500.) The Mysteries of Pittsburgh appeared in 1988 and became a bestseller, instantly catapulting Chabon to the status of literary celebrity.

Chabon was ambivalent about his newfound fame. He turned down offers to appear in a Gap ad and to be featured as one of People's "50 Most Beautiful People." (He later said, of the People offer, "I don't give a shit [about it]....I only take pride in things I've actually done myself. To be praised for something like that is just weird. It just felt like somebody calling and saying, 'We want to put you in a magazine because the weather's so nice where you live.'")

It just makes me happy to know that someone, whose work I respect, doesn't confuse credibility with popularity.

Now back to "sparkling with epiph[enit]anic dew."

two weeks

It's been two weeks since my last confession entry and I've got a bit of a backup. I can't [because I care] disgorge all the minutiae of the past couple of weeks but I can't seem to move forward until I unload some of it.

While I was watching my friends' ravenous pet corn snake devour a dead mouse this past weekend–'twas three times the width of its head, I swear–a word kept running through my head. As if on cue my smart, nature-loving friend M spoke the word:

per·i·stal·sis (pr-stôlss, -stl-)
n. pl. per·i·stal·ses (-sz)
The wavelike muscular contractions of the alimentary canal or other tubular structures by which contents are forced onward toward the opening.

What a fabulous adaptation, that unhinging jaw and muscle-rippling that moves such a proportionately gigantic lump from mouth into body, until there's nothing but a tongue-like tail left hanging from its reptilian lips.

So writer's peristalsis is kicking in. I'll catch up soon, albeit in more manageable, bite-sized pieces...

long island

I think homeland security is in cahoots with the manufacturers of travel size containers.

My aunt died. On Mother's Day of all days. Nature is not a kitten, my friends. My parents and three of the four sisters will meet on Long Island tomorrow. The missing sister represented at my cousin's funeral a few weeks ago, so we are representing for her this week.

Things have not gotten off to an auspicious start. However, the liquor up north tastes exactly like the booze we swill down here in Texas, so I'm sure it will all work out.

Hope our presence, in some way, honors our dear aunt. Hope our family time is incident-free. Anecdote-rich but incident-free...

ah, to be isabella rossellini's snail sub!

Isabella Rossellini defines gorgeous and sensual. I have sometimes joked that I would watch a movie of her folding linens (as if she folds her own linens). I wish I would have said: I would watch a movie of her dressed as a drone mounting a cardboard bee. That would have been prophetic.

Watch these shorts Isabella Rossellini created, called Green Porno. She is phenomenal.

(Thanks to L&M for sending me this link. It made my day.)